The Very Thought Of You
by kabensi
Summary: Quinn wakes up in an alley with Rachel unconscious next to her. The alley is neither in Ohio or the present. Faberry. Time-Travel. Jazz. Etiquette. Questions of sanity.
1. I don't need your photograph

**A/N: This idea came to me while I was at work. It's kind of a hybrid of some other things I've done, some things I've read, and some things that have been floating around in my mind. Like when you watch a bunch of movies on the same day and go to bed and have crazy mash-up dreams. I know I'm the queen of WIPs, but this is one of those I intend to knock out in a few days. If anything, it's my hiatus project. I'm also very much in love with it and I've been wanting to do something like this for a while, I just didn't have anything past the initial concept. And if you really want to enhance this experience, open up Pandora and use the title (the Billie Holiday version) and Moonlight Serenade as your station seeds. Happy reading, lovers.**

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><p>"Hey, buddy!"<p>

Quinn isn't sure who's talking and it's a difficult task just to force open her eyes. She has what feels like an impending migraine and her body aches the way it used to after the first few months of Cheerios practice.

"Pal! Can you hear me?"

Her eyes finally open, but focusing is a whole different task. It's dark, but there seem to be streetlights nearby and her eyes begin to adjust to the dim lighting. Where was she before this?

"Hey, look. He's coming to. How's the girl?"

She has no idea who they're talking about, but there's a guy in a suit leaning over her. Her muscles rebel when she first tries to sit up, but with some effort, she's able to force them into commission. As she looks down at herself, she sees that she's wearing a vintage men's suit.

What was she doing before this?

_Come on, Quinn. Think._

"You got a name, kid?" asks the man who's been kneeling in front of her.

"Quinn," she answers, but her voice is hoarse, like she's been cheering for eight hours straight. She clears her throat and tries again. "Quinn Fabray."

"Quinn," he nods. "You're lucky we were cutting through, here. Otherwise, who knows how long you would have been out here."

She still has no idea where "here" is.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Um..." She brings a hand to her face and presses it over her eyes. The last thing she remembers is... "The big band benefit concert." She doesn't even know where it comes from, but it's suddenly there. With it comes something about Blaine, but she can't figure out why.

"So, you two were out dancing?"

Dancing. Yes. Dancing. There was dancing. She can see it, the school gym with the lights turned down and the combined jazz and marching bands set up like something Ricky Ricardo would conduct before Lucy came in to stir up trouble. The memory is suddenly full force and it's almost too much all at once. It's the benefit night for all the school arts programs and they're doing a big swing number choreographed by Mike and Brittany. And Blaine... Blaine's supposed to be Rachel's dance partner, but he has the flu. Quinn's one of the better dancers, so she's standing in for him, especially because the height difference between herself and Rachel is just right. That's why she's wearing the suit. That's why Rachel's wearing the-

Rachel.

Quinn yanks her hand away from her face and looks around. There, not six feet from her, is Rachel, lying on the ground. She doesn't appear to be conscious. The second guy, the one who's been talking to the man next to her, is leaning over Rachel.

It dawns on her that she has no idea who either of these men are. "Hey! Get away from her!" She lunges toward guy number two, but she doesn't get much momentum from her seated position on the ground. Also, her body response is sluggish, at best.

"Quinn, buddy. We're on your side." The first guy grips her shoulder. "Do you know what happened? Is that your girl?"

So many questions and so little time to process much of anything. This guy keeps referring to her as buddy and pal, so he must think she's a guy. Right now, she isn't going to argue, given that she's apparently been unconscious in an alley for who knows how long.

Past Rachel, she can see a city street and beyond that are bright lights and what look to be theater marquees. Given that the dress style of both men is very similar to what she's wearing and that the cars passing by are all mid-century American models, she would normally assume she was sound asleep and dreaming. But the way her head hurts and the clarity of the city sounds around her seem to suggest she's very much awake.

Which is impossible.

Impossible or not, awake or asleep, there's one thing Quinn Fabray does when she's desperate to push herself ahead of everyone around her.

She lies.

"Y-yes. She is." For some reason, she feels like they're both safer if these men think Rachel's spoken for.

Her hand instinctively moves to push her hair aside, something she does when she's on the spot, but in addition to the pomade that's holding the hairstyle in place, the cut's shorter than usual. Apparently, "Trust me, my mom's a beautician" doesn't necessarily mean someone actually knows what they're doing. Or Mack was just dead set on cutting Quinn's hair too short for her own amusement, which is entirely possible.

She breaks away from the man's hand on her shoulder and crawls toward Rachel, who's breathing but offering no other signs of consciousness. "Rachel." Gently, she shakes Rachel's shoulders, but there's no response.

The second guy, the one who hasn't done much talking, finally speaks up. "You were still out cold for a good few minutes after we found you. No telling how long you've been out here. We should get her to a doctor. Frank, what's the nearest hospital?"

"No!" Quinn protectively arches her body over Rachel's. "No hospitals."

"What's the matter, you kids in trouble?" Frank asks as he stands over the both of them.

"We're... from out of town. And..." Quinn checks her pockets for what she already knows isn't there. "We must have been robbed. My wallet's gone. Her purse, too."

"Robbery or not, she should see a doc-"

"It's all right, Vic, I have an idea." Frank crouches back down next to Quinn. "Look, I have a buddy who just finished med school. He's an honest fella who minds his own business... you can trust him."

Quinn doesn't want to trust anyone. She's not programmed to do it, like, ever. But Rachel could have a concussion or be in a coma and she needs help. "Yeah. Okay." She nods and suddenly Vic's lifting Rachel up on the ground and Frank's offering her a hand up. Her first few steps are clumsy, but she manages to find her bearings enough to follow the two men toward the street.

Frank hails a cab and Quinn doesn't hear the directions, because she's overwhelmed by the fact that she's standing in the middle of Times Square. She's been here before, and while there are plenty of bright lights and colorful signs, this time there are no walls of video screens. There isn't much time to look around, because Frank pushes her into the back of the cab and Vic places Rachel across the seat so her head's in Quinn's lap.

The door shuts and after a brief conversation outside the car, Frank takes the front seat and it's apparent that Vic isn't joining them. Quinn doesn't really care. She just wants to get to this doctor or med student or whoever and make sure Rachel's going to be all right.

Her mind is telling her that none of this can be real, that she must have slipped on the dance floor and she's the one who's unconscious and dreaming up this world around her. Whatever the case, this is the reality of the moment. And, again, the details tell her this isn't some state of REM sleep, because she can feel the weight of Rachel's head against her leg, she can hear the occasional static coming through the music on the cab's radio. She recalls hearing that dreams don't allow you to read the same words twice because of something about the way your memory stores information, so she takes the opportunity to read a billboard for Lucky Strike cigarettes then closes her eyes, takes a breath, and re-opens them. Every letter is exactly as it was the first time.

The arm that's draped over Rachel tightens a little. Quinn can feel Rachel's body heat, she can see the way her arm moves with the rise and fall of Rachel's chest. "Come on, Rachel," she whispers. "You have to wake up. You have to be okay." As an afterthought, she adds, "You have to prove I haven't entirely lost it." At this point, if Rachel were to sit right up and disprove her, Quinn would welcome it, because at least that would make some kind of sense.

The cab stops in front of an apartment building and Frank scoops Rachel out of the backseat. "Follow me," he says, over his shoulder. "He's on the third floor."

It's now that Quinn notices that he's maybe in his late twenties. He doesn't look like a thug or any other variation of noir criminal. Her body struggles to keep up with him but she manages to stay in step behind him as they climb three flights of stairs.

"This one. 3B."

Only after Frank stares at her for about ten seconds does she realize that he's waiting for her to knock, since his arms are full of Rachel Berry. There's no answer after the first effort, but Frank urges her to try again and they're met with a tired sounding, "Who is it?"

"Benny, it's Frank. Open up."

The door opens enough for Quinn to see a shorter man in glasses, about the same age as Frank. "It's the middle of the night." As soon as Benny sees Rachel, though, the door swings fully open. "Who is this? What happened?"

Frank moves into the apartment and waits as Benny clears the newspaper that's spread open on the sofa. "Mugging, we think. This is Quinn. He's with her." He gently places Rachel on the couch and covers her with the throw blanket that's draped over the back.

Until now, Quinn's forgotten that they think she's a man. Now that they're out of the dark, shadowy alley, she wonders how long she can get away with it. For now, though, it seems she's still passing, because Benny nods at her, then turns his attention to Rachel.

Frank steps back to let his friend assess the patient. "Hey, Ben. You still have the bourbon I brought you on your birthday?"

"Right where you left it, Frank."

Benny's not even finished speaking as Frank finds the bottle among the small assortment of liquor lined up on top of the credenza that sits on the far side of the room. It reminds Quinn of home, as does the sweet smell of whiskey when Frank pours it into two glasses. "Here, kid. It'll help with the nerves."

Quinn accepts because, as much as she actively avoids any possibility of becoming her mother, she knows this guy is right. "Thanks." She knocks a good half of it back like a pro, because this is definitely not her first time.

"Don't you worry. Ol' Benny Berry will take good care of her."

That's when Quinn chokes on her drink.


	2. to keep by my bed

"Whoa, there!" Frank slaps his hand on Quinn's back, which does absolutely nothing to help the burning in her throat. Her eyes water, but she can breathe, so she's all right.

"I'm fine," she croaks out, wiping a hand over her mouth. She looks to Benny, who's taking Rachel's pulse. "Do you think I could wash up?" Really, she doesn't want to let Rachel out of her sight, but they're with another Berry, for crying out loud, and she needs a moment to herself.

"Sure, it's just around the corner, there," Frank answers for his friend.

"Thanks." Quinn does her best not to run toward the short hallway where there are two doorways. One leads into a bedroom, so she assumes the dark room is the bathroom. She shuts the door and fumbles to find the light switch, then realizes it's not shaped the way she's expecting and finally bathes the room in the light of the bare bulb that's mounted over the medicine cabinet.

As she looks in the mirror, she's relieved to see her own face looking back at her. With the way everyone's assumed she's a man, she was honestly worried that whatever sent them back in time also swapped her body with that of someone else. Then again, there's no way for her to know if she's the only one seeing herself.

If only Rachel would wake up.

Quinn washes her hands with the bar of soap that rests in the soapdish, then leans over the sink to splash water on her face. She manages to get soap in her eye and the sting only further reminds her that this isn't a dream. Or, if it isn't real, it's a damn good hallucination.

She dries her face on the hand towel, then uses her fingers to reposition the pieces of hair that have fallen free from the pomade. Originally, she had a hat, but it must still be in the alley. Or the future.

Potential family or not, Quinn doesn't want to leave Rachel's side for too long, not while she's still unconscious. She straightens her coat and presses the light switch, giving herself a few more seconds alone in the dark before she opens the door.

When she does, she hears Frank and Benny talking. Well, mostly just Frank, at first.

"I'm telling you, I think she's in a family way given the way that Quinn's so protective of her. Could explain why he's not saying much. Also, why they're alone in the city. Maybe they came to get married in the city because they couldn't do it out in the sticks."

"I'll keep your medical evaluation in mind, Frank."

"You think you can put these kids up at least for the night?"

"Are you giving me a choice in this?"

"You're a good man, Benny."

Quinn can't stand in the hallway forever, so she rejoins the men in the living room. "Anything?" she asks, looking down at Rachel.

"From my initial diagnosis, she doesn't appear to have any prominent head injuries, so she may be unconscious due to shock." Benny removes his glasses and rubs them with a handkerchief he pulls from his robe pocket. "You don't remember anything?"

"Just dancing. Then waking up in the alley." Benny gestures toward the vacant end of the sofa and Quinn carefully sits down.

"What about headache or dizziness?" Benny slips his glasses back on, then gently places his hands on either side of her head as he examines her for what she assumes is a sign of concussion or something.

"Headache, yes. Not really dizzy, though. My body's stiff, like I've been asleep. Or, it was. That's kind of worn off by now."

Benny hums in response and releases her head. He holds up one finger in front of her face. "Follow with your eyes," he says, before moving it back and forth, then side to side.

Quinn's familiar with this test, because it's part of every single sports physical she's ever endured. Benny seems satisfied with her reaction and returns his attention to Rachel. "Without knowing what happened to you, the most I can suggest is to wait for her to wake up."

Frank drains his glass and his next step is to pull a cigarette case out of his coat pocket. He offers one to Benny who waves his hand before he stands and disappears into the tiny kitchen.

"How about you, kid?" Frank asks, holding the case out to Quinn.

She hasn't smoked since the beginning of the school year and it was actually an easy habit for to drop. But right now, the appeal of a cigarette is borderline overwhelming. "Thanks," she says as she takes one. Frank gallantly offers her his lighter and the initial drag she takes is enough to make her lightheaded.

Benny emerges from the kitchen with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin, which he sets on the end table. "When she wakes, make sure she takes two of these."

"Hey, Ben, I hate to admit a patient and run, but if I'm not home soon, Agnes'll have the entire precinct looking for me." Frank picks up his hat from where he must have dropped it onto the table, earlier.

Benny doesn't look entirely pleased, but he also doesn't appear to be surprised. Quinn hates that she's at the mercy of someone else, but she has nowhere else to go.

"As soon as she wakes up, we'll... be out of your way." There's no telling when that will actually be or what state Rachel will actually be in when that happens, but Quinn doesn't want to put this guy out any more than she has to, possible unknowing relative or not.

There's another wave of the hand from Benny, which Frank takes as a sign of agreement. "You're a good man, doc. I'll check with you tomorrow." And then he's out the door.

Quinn puffs on her cigarette, momentarily overtaken by the potency of a mid-century Lucky Strike. It tastes different. Better, she thinks. But that could just be because it's her first in months.

Benny locks the door behind Frank, then turns back around, hands in his robe pockets. "I'm not sure if you heard, but Frank thinks... what's her name? Rachel? He thinks she's... with child."

"I, uh, don't think she is." Quinn leans forward to flick the ash into the large ashtray that sits in the middle of the coffee table.

"I don't, either." Benny reaches up to adjust his glasses on his face. "Though, if she is, it isn't yours."

Quinn freezes. "Excuse me?" She isn't sure why she's offended by the certainty of the statement.

"As a doctor of medicine, I've spent a lot of time working with the human body. And it's really none of my business, but you've come to me for help and I can't help but make a scientific observation. There's no way this woman is pregnant with your child." The way Benny's speaking is very enunciated, as if he's trying to make a very specific point. Then, more quietly, he says, "I have an Aunt Ruth and an Aunt Naomi who have lived together for over twenty years."

That's when it hits Quinn. He doesn't doubt that she and Rachel are a couple, he just knows Quinn isn't a man. Which is a relief. But it also raises another complication.

"You're... very understanding," is all she can think to say.

"Your business is none of mine." He shrugs and is about to say more, but there's something that sounds like singing coming from the other side of the front door. The singing grows louder and it's a woman's voice. It seems to stop moving directly in front of the door, then there's the sound of keys jingling. "Oh, for crying out loud, Miriam, it's the middle of the night," he says, not really to anyone. At least no one who can actually hear him.

Quinn snubs out her cigarette in the ashtray while Benny glares at the door, until they hear the door across the hall open and close, ultimately silencing the song. Mostly.

Benny shakes his head. "I'm going to bed. If she wakes up before I do and seems disoriented or ill, please let me know."

And then Quinn's left alone with Rachel in the living room. When the muffled song across the way comes to a stop, she realizes just how much she needs Rachel to be okay.


End file.
